


A Little Break Never Hurt Anyone

by QueenNoPlot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blushing, Double Penetration, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Scent Marking, Semi-Public Sex, Sneaky Sex, Spike - Freeform, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, Valve Fingering (Transformers), but not Megatron this time, distraction, valve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNoPlot/pseuds/QueenNoPlot
Summary: Could be a sequel to "Strategic Fragging.”Optimus has work to do, but Megatron has another idea. And then another...Prowl is a hot robot mess.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatron/Optimus Prime/Prowl, Optimus Prime/Prowl
Comments: 2
Kudos: 105





	1. Break Time

**Author's Note:**

> Could be read as a sequel to "Strategic Fragging," but you don't have to read that one for this one to make sense.

Optimus doesn’t spare so much as a glance away from his monitor when the door slides open. Only when the door is closed and the pedsteps are heavier than expected do his optics stray from the screen and meet those of the approaching mech.

”Do you need something?” He asks dryly.

”Yes, actually,” his fellow warframe replies, placing his hands on the surface of the desk and leaning toward him. “I need your spike.”

The Prime stares at him for a long moment.

”As tempting as that is,” he finally vents, “I have work to do. As I am sure you understand, it is no small task to lead Cybertron.”

The warlord – _ex-warlord_ , that is – sneers at him and hits the monitor’s power button. “How about now?”

”Very funny.” Optimus turns the monitor back on, then points out a stack of datapads. “These reports will not read themselves.”

The silver mech takes a look at the stack, looks back at the Prime, and with one sweep of his servo sends the datapads to the floor.

”What reports?”

”Megatron!” Oh, how ready he is to slap that smug grin off his faceplates. “Would you go find someone else to harass? I have important duties to attend to right now.”

”Oh, seriously? You’re not going to take a little break to blow off some steam?”

”Yes, seriously.” Optimus glares up at him as he kneels down to pick up the datapads. “Now frag off.”

”Well...perhaps we can compromise.”

“How so?” the red and blue mech vents as he settles back into his seat, the reports returned to their previous arrangement.

“I can settle for sucking you off,” Megatron muses, flashing his teeth at him. “That shouldn’t be too much of a distraction for you.”

Optimus surrenders to the light blush emerging on his faceplates. At this point, it will be easier to let the bigger mech do what he wants than keep trying to send him away. If he’s being honest with himself, he could use the stress relief, too. In the end it could help him focus more on his work.

”Fine. Get under my desk.”

Megatron’s smile widens and he notes the emerging fangs. He trusts him, but there’s always the risk of minor injury when warframes frag, especially with him as riled up as he already is. Optimus can only watch him settle under his desk and hope he knows his fangs are out. The way the desk is built, he’s hidden from all angles except one.

The ex-warlord grabs Optimus by his knee struts and pulls him back into place. Adding his Prime’s legs underneath the desk makes it a little tight, but he doesn’t mind. He just spreads out those beautiful, strong legs and sets about his own work.

First a hand, then a mouth on his interface panel. Optimus decides it’s only fair that he should make his lover earn it since he did distract him from his duties. He keeps his panel locked shut and in moments Megatron is trying almost frantically to get it open. He strokes it, licks it, and even bites it in his attempt to arouse Optimus.

The Prime just keeps working.

”Optimus, this is a two-mechanoid job here. Open up.”

”Ask nicely.”

”Optimus,” he pleads.

”Megatron,” comes the imitation.

”Are– are you mocking me? Fine.” With a heavy vent, Megatron leans and rubs the side of his faceplates against the inside of Optimus’ leg. “ _ Please _ , Optimus.”

”That was not so hard, was it?”

Megatron growls, but it morphs into a groan when the panel slides away and that long, thick spike extends. He takes it personally that the Prime is only at half-mast. He knows the mech lusts for him. He’s read his sickeningly sweet poems about how much he wants him with all his processor, frame, and spark. Now he has the gall to push down his arousal! The nerve of this mech.

He takes that spike in his hand, rubs the blue plates on the top, then tilts it up so he can drag his glossa straight up the smaller red plates on the underside.

Optimus’ legs tense up at the suddenness of the contact. The underside of his spike is hypersensitive, so Megatron usually saves touching it for when he’s about to climax to give him processor-blowing overloads. Not that he’s complaining. It gives him enough of a boost to heighten his arousal and he has to refrain from reaching down and stroking himself.

The mech between his legs catches the shift in his electromagnetic field and steadily pumps his hand up and down the length of his spike, just avoiding the tip. For the ridged end of Optimus’ spike, he teases it with his glossa. When that gets him hardly a flinch, Megatron growls and takes that spike into his mouth.

”Aah–! Nnh...” The Prime puts a hand on the other mech’s helm and allows his optics to shut.

Being taken nearly to the base sends waves of arousal through his frame, giving Megatron the rock-hard spike he wants. Megatron purrs his delight and the teasing vibrations make Optimus buck and groan. He’s held down by hands on his pelvic armor and the silver mech pulls off of his spike.

”Megatron!” Optimus whines.

”I’ll get back to work when you do.”

Curse his slag-eating grin. Faceplates growing warmer, the Prime repositions himself in his seat and returns his attention to the report on the monitor. His spike is taken back in hand and mouth almost immediately, challenging his focus.

He manages to review two reports with minimal backspacing before his charge gets the better of him. Megatron senses his fading resolve and withdraws only to concentrate his pleasurable assault on those fiery red plates.

“Ooh, frag!” Optimus groans, gripping the rests of his seat.

With a harsh, half-stifled cry, he lets his charge finally explode through his circuits, setting his spinal strut and array on fire with pleasure. He bucks even with the strong servos trying to hold his legs still. His heel struts scrape the floor until his peds are against the wall of his desk and he can’t bring himself to care when he hears Megatron’s grunt of discomfort. Ecstasy fading, he slumps in his seat, resting his helm on the back and basking in the afterglow.

“Primus, Optimus,” comes the growl from below. “Can’t you aim?”

“Shut up...”

Megatron pushes him and his seat away from the desk. He stands, then takes a cloth from subspace and rids himself of the transfluid splattered on the left side of his helm and faceplates. He tosses it to the Prime and walks halfway to the door before stopping and turning around.

“I will see you in your unit later?” he asks.

“I would like that,” Optimus rumbles.

“Great. May I invite Prowl?”

Optimus halts mid-scrub and looks up to level Megatron with an incredulous stare.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’ve seen the way Prowl looks at you. How they all look at you. But especially him. I’m fairly certain that at this point he knows about us, and I don’t doubt that’s why he’s never approached you with the intention of fragging you. So, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let him in on the action at least once. After all, he _has_ been your most loyal Autobot for millennia.”

“You think I should repay him by interfacing with him? ”

Megatron nods. “It’s obvious that’s what he really wants.”

Optimus stares down at his desk for a long moment, the ex-warlord recognizing his expression of contemplation even through his battle mask. The red and blue warframe lets out a long vent and looks up, a fresh shine in his cerulean optics.

“I am willing if he is.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl time.

When Prowl had been stopped in the corridor by Megatron, he did not expect that in the next joor he would be in the Prime’s unit with his commander between his legs. His legs would be wrapped around Optimus if the ex-warlord wasn’t pressed to the Prime’s back. The head of security is still reluctant to touch Megatron at all – despite the peaceful end to the War – so he just keeps his legs splayed wide to accommodate the mech slowly rocking between them.

Optimus has barely gotten started, still letting the smaller mech’s valve adjust, and Prowl is already a hot mess. His fans are on high, though nothing compared to the cooling systems of the two warframes. He’s leaking an embarrassing amount of lubricant, clutching hard to both the berth sheet and Prime’s shoulder, and his faceplates are burning as he struggles to contain a string of moans and curses. And Optimus is being _so gentle_ , it has to be the sheer size of his spike putting Prowl in this state.

“Are you alright, Prowl?” The Prime asks, reaching behind him to push Megatron back.

“Yes...” It comes out as a moan, even as he notices Megatron stalking around them on all fours.

With Megatron no longer at Optimus’ back, Prowl brings his legs up and wraps them around his commander’s waist. Consequently, that red and blue spike sinks in deeper. Prowl abandons the berth sheet entirely in favor of latching onto the large mech’s shoulders.

“Optimus,” he gasps. “I’m ready...”

“Very well. Remember, if anything hurts or makes you uncomfortable, tell me and we will stop.”

_ We. _ Right. Megatron’s still here, sitting above Prowl and watching. This is what he signed up for. He knows neither of them will hurt him, and that calms him as much as feeling his Prime’s hands gently settling on his pelvic armor.

Then Optimus thrusts, straight to the hilt, and he sets a steady pace. Prowl doesn’t care what comes out of his vocalizer anymore. It does concern him, of course, how the frag he’s going to take both Optimus and Megatron at the same time. Optimus by himself provides a good stretch. Prowl doesn’t know how big Megatron is, but being a warframe, he couldn’t possibly be any smaller.

Prowl feels a finger trace his chevron, then realizes it’s a claw. At first his spark jumps, but he reminds himself that he won’t be harmed, that Megatron just wants a nice frag as much as he does. His field must have betrayed him, because Optimus leans down and nuzzles into his neck.

“He will not hurt you,” he purrs. “Focus on me for now.”

The rhythmic metal clanging gets a bit faster. Prowl’s valve constricts and Optimus lets out a heavy groan close enough to the smaller mech’s audio to be rewarded with a fresh gush of lubricant.

“Ahh, Optimus...! Faster...!”

The Prime obliges, straightening for ease of movement, and Prowl throws his helm back – right into Megatron’s lap. He doesn’t care. If anything, the silver mech petting his helm is keeping him in place just as much as those warframe hands on his waist. With Optimus’ shoulders now out of Prowl’s reach, the black and white mech puts one hand on his commander’s leg and the other returns to gripping the sheet.

Optimus shifts between thrusts and rams repeatedly into a circuit that has Prowl crying out, every strut in his frame going tense. The final warning is a flare of Prowl’s field before overload floods through him. He arches off the berth with a shout of Optimus’ name followed by a sob laced with profanity when the red and blue mech keeps pounding his constricted valve. He’s overcome by a second overload by the time Optimus surges into him and ejects what feels like his entire transfluid reserve into his valve, growling and groaning like a predacon in heat.

Prowl feels more like a cybercat, mewling in his post-overload high, pawing at the chassis that guides him back down to the berth. There are those claws petting him again, reminding him that he’s not quite finished.

“Prowl?” Optimus already sounds recovered. Glitch. “Are you alright?”

“Mmm...” Prowl looks down at his legs and waist. “You mean...aside from the dents?”

The bigger mech follows his gaze and vents. “My apologies. Would you like Megatron to join us now?”

_ Ugh. _ Do warframes even take breaks between rounds? Prowl wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t.

“Give me a klick first,” he groans, resting his helm back on Megatron’s lap.

The ex-rivals share a stare, likely talking on a private comm. line, as Optimus slowly pulls out. Then, Prowl finds his legs and helm dropped onto the berth. His processor lags at the combination of post-overload drowsiness and the sudden movements, until he finally realizes that the warframes have lunged at each other. He looks over just in time to see them – Megatron on top and clearly trying to mount the Prime – tumble over the side of the berth.

They land with a heavy crash, no doubt entangled, and growl at each other as they get off the floor.

“Frag you.”

“If you’d just stayed still,  I would be fragging _you_.”

“Mechs!” Prowl snaps at them. They watch him push himself up onto his aft. “Get back up here and frag _me_ .”

In mere klicks Prowl finds himself between the warframes, Megatron nuzzling the back of his helm while Optimus goes for his neck, growling a little to encourage him to expose the malleable plates more. When the black and white mech tilts his helm at an upward angle he reveals a fuel line, which is promptly taken between teeth a bit sharper than expected.

“Ah...!” Learning that Optimus is no exception to the “horny warframe fangs” trait Ratchet told him about just makes Prowl lubricate. “Optimus...”

The red and blue mech applies just enough pressure to make the smaller ‘Bot stiffen before soothing the bite with a lick. Large hands seize his pelvic armor and pull him on top of Optimus as he lies on his back. Prowl straddles his lap, reaches between his legs, and brings the Prime’s spike to his valve before sinking down.

Once Prowl’s comfortable, he reaches behind him in search of another spike. Megatron presses against his back, taking him by the wrist and guiding his hand to his shaft. He growls at the tentative strokes and moves closer, using his own legs to spread Optimus’ and make room for himself. Then, Prowl takes his hand off his spike and inserts a couple of fingers into his own valve, getting a surprised rev out of Optimus. He draws his hand away once he’s gathered an ample amount of fluids, which he then uses to lubricate Megatron’s spike.

The revving of flight engines sends vibrations through each of their frames and Optimus rocks his hips upwards with a soft groan.

“Patience, Prime,” Megatron purrs, smoothing his hands upwards along blue legs before resting them on top of Optimus’ hands on Prowl’s waist.

Prowl waits until the ex-warlord’s spike makes contact with his valve to let go. He leans forward and puts both hands flat on Optimus’ chassis. Slowly, Megatron begins to push his spike in, smirking when his conjunx swears and lets his helm fall to the berth. Halfway in and Prowl’s fingers curl, leaving scratches on the Prime’s windshields.

Megatron slows down when it starts to become quite a squeeze, changing tactics to work his way in by gently rocking back and forth. Prowl winces, but gasps and moans, while Optimus lies in a dazed bliss – possibly experiencing a sensory overload. Prowl highly doubts he’s ever had a threesome before, at least not from the position he’s in. The officer’s spike throbs as he tries to imagine what it must feel like to exchange charge with both a valve and another spike.

The new spike in his valve slows to a halt. He looks down and nearly overloads on the spot. The warframes’ spikes can’t fit inside his valve completely at the same time, but it allows Prowl a great view of their size and how the mix of his lubricant and the Prime’s transfluid drips from his valve.

It only takes Megatron a few klicks to get going. When he does, Prowl’s servos weaken and he nearly falls onto the Prime, while Optimus’ fingers dig into the seams of his pelvic plating. The red and blue mech plants his peds on the berth and starts to thrust, in as Megatron pulls out and out as he pushes back in. The alternating movements provide sweet, rhythmic contact to every sensor in Prowl’s valve. The room is filled with the sounds of their moans, groans, and cries of pleasure.

Optimus comes first, announcing his climax with a loud shout on a thrust in. Megatron grinds in after him, smirking as the scraping of their spikes makes the smaller warframe gasp. Prowl moans at the hot transfluid filling his valve, then cries out in overload as Megatron makes a few thrusts in quick succession. His back arches and his valve constricts the small amount that it can, which is just enough to bring Megatron roaring to completion.

The majority of the mixed fluids in Prowl’s valve spill right out, creating an obscene mess on their arrays, their thighs, and the berth. Megatron exits first, followed by Optimus pulling his helm of security off of his spike. The three lie on the berth for a while until they have enough energy restored to get up and use the washrack. Prowl goes last, spending most of his time regaining stability on his peds – he knows he won’t be walking normally for at least the next solar cycle. He decides to leave one tiny, inconspicuous streak of blue paint on his inner thigh.

What could be a better reminder that he fragged Optimus Prime?

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me HERE: queennoplot.tumblr.com


End file.
